


I Don't Know How to Say No to This

by neverhaveieverbooks



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverhaveieverbooks/pseuds/neverhaveieverbooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Glee-Hamilton mash-up!  Blaine learns that the smash Broadway hit "Hamilton" is having a casting call and gets a little obsessed while preparing for his audition.  Kurt worries that it's too much...Originally this story was posted as a one shot, but    Loras_the_bold challenged us to continue it, and we started to think about how Blaine and Kurt would start to juggle being married, being back in New York, and beginning their performing careers. This is now a four part story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I am Not Throwing Away My Shot

**Author's Note:**

> There is no way Blaine wouldn't be obsessed with this show...
> 
> ***Please note that Blaine is clearly identified as biracial in this work. This is consistent with the actor who played him who is half Filipino and half white. Glee never identifies Blaine's race, but many fans believe him to be biracial as well.
> 
> We write YA fiction and fanfiction, and follow all kinds of popular media, especially that which has an LGBTQ theme. Please follow us on tumblr at neverhaveieverbooks.

Almost eighteen months after they moved back to New York, Kurt got a text from Blaine in the middle of the day.  He was in a History of Theater seminar, so he surreptitiously moved his phone down to his lap to check it. Usually Blaine was very considerate of Kurt’s class schedule.  He wouldn’t be texting now if it wasn’t important.  It was.

 

_From Blaine:  They’re recasting Hamilton._

 

Blaine had been obsessed with the hip-hop musical _Hamilton_ since it opened the last summer.  He and Kurt owned the soundtrack, and Blaine had been trying for months to win tickets on the Ham4Ham lottery, so far to no avail.  Kurt had been saving money on the  side, trying to figure out how he could buy tickets, even if it was months from now, but the seats were going for hundreds of dollars apiece.  He didn’t think he would ever be able to save that much.

 

When Kurt finally got home after class that night, the _Hamilton_ soundtrack was blaring from the bluetooth speaker in their apartment, and Blaine was rapping along with Lin-Manuel Miranda,

 

“ _Hey yo, I’m just like my country, I’m young, scrappy and hungry and I’m **not** throwin’ away my shot!_ ”

 

He broke into a wide smile when he saw Kurt come through the door, grabbed his arms, swept him into a spin, and twirled him around their tiny living room.

 

“ _We’re gonna **rise** up! Time to take a shot, rise up!_ ”

 

Kurt was laughing by the time the song was over, Blaine’s cheeks bloomed rosy from the dancing, he was breathing hard, and his eyes were bright with excitement.

 

“So what’s going on?” Kurt finally managed to ask, when Blaine turned the music down.

 

“Most of the cast is leaving this summer, after the Tonys, or in the fall.  They posted open auditions for recasting almost everything, from King George to George Washington.  My advisor wants me to try out. Kurt, you have to help me find a rap audition piece.”

 

Kurt’s smile dimmed a little.  This was a lot to take in. They were both still in school, although he was finishing up his final semester at NYADA.   Blaine was thriving at NYU, but he still had dark days, days when getting out of bed  was a struggle, when he turned to Kurt, wordless, eyes brimming with tears for reasons he couldn’t even begin to explain.  Kurt was better at understanding those days, better at helping Blaine, not by trying to fix things, or offering solutions like he would have in the past, but by just being there at Blaine’s side.  

 

And Blaine was better at giving Kurt his space without taking it as a personal affront.  He belonged to an a cappella group at school, and checked out new bands with Elliott, and had  played the Baker last semester in a school production of _Into the Woods_ , which earned him positive reviews in the NYU student newspaper.

 

            But even though they were getting better at figuring things out, happy to be together back in New York in their own tiny apartment, and even though this was exactly the kind of acting opportunity both of them were always looking for, something was giving Kurt pause.  Auditioning for one of the most popular and arguably demanding musicals in the city meant a lot of time and dedication.  And the chances of Blaine being cast, even in the chorus, were so slim, that Kurt knew the whole idea was a long shot. Not to mention the fact that the cast in _Hamilton_ was notoriously racially diverse, and even though Blaine was biracial, he passed pretty solidly as white.  They both knew the score, having played it endlessly for months.  Kurt couldn’t help but think of Washington warning the impetuous Hamilton, “ _Dying is easy, young Man. Living is Harder_.”

 

Blaine must have seen the look on Kurt’s face, because his own face dimmed a little.  

 

“What? Kurt? Is there a problem with me auditioning for Hamilton?”  
  


Kurt shook his head a bit to clear it.  Yes, it might come to nothing.  Yes, he knew Blaine might have a depressive episode or fall behind in school if it didn’t work out, but Kurt also knew better than to try to tell Blaine not to audition for something he really wanted.  This was what they came to New York to do.  Neither of them thought it would be easy, making a living as actors and performers.  He couldn’t ask Blaine to give up before he even started.  Blaine was now Washington to Kurt’s Hamilton, “ _I need someone like you to lighten the load._ ”  He turned to Blaine and asked him carefully, “You’re sure you want to do this?”  Blaine leapt onto the couch and flung his arms wide, answering Kurt with a broad smile and another _Hamilton_ lyric,

 

_“I’m past patiently waitin’,_

_I’m passionately smashin’ every expectation,_

_every action’s an act of creation._

_I’m laughin’ in the face of casualties and sorrow,_

_for the first time I’m thinkin’ past tomorrow,_ ” He jumped back down to the floor and pulled Kurt back in for another hug,

 _“And I am **not** throwin’ away my **shot**._ ”  

 

So… apparently they were doing this. Kurt stepped into Blaine’s open arms and hugged him, hard.   “What can I do to help?” he asked, though he wondered if “ _Foes oppose us/We taken honest stand, we roll like Moses, claimin’ our promised land”_ applied or might “ _We are outgunned/outmanned/outmaneuvered/outplanned_ ” be more appropriate.

 

The casting calls were scheduled for two weeks away, and Blaine immediately began trying to memorize the entire _Hamilton_ soundtrack.  

 

“Blaine, I’m pretty sure you don’t need to play every part,” said Kurt with a fond smile, as Blaine struggled to hit Angelica’s Schuyler’s notes the next morning before breakfast.

 

Blaine looked at him and took another swig of his orange juice before intoning, “ _I will never be satisfied..._ ”

 

“Oh, brother,” said Kurt. “This is going to be interesting.”  Inwardly, “ _Stay alive ‘til this horror show is past.  We’re gonna fly a lot of flag half-mast_.”

 

For the next several days Blaine spoke almost entirely in _Hamilton_ quotes, while Kurt thought them to himself in response.  

 

When Kurt came home from school, tired at the end of a long day, and called out, ”Blaine, are you home?” Blaine responded from the bedroom “ _I’m Alexander Hamilton, I’m at your service, sir._ ”  Kurt thought, “ _I’m getting nervous._ ”

 

When someone at NYADA gave Kurt two free tickets to an off-off Broadway show, and he called Blaine to tell him not to plan anything for that Friday night, Blaine burst into song over the phone, “ _Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now..._ ”

 

Kurt laughed patiently, “Yes, Blaine, we are very lucky.  But I need to make sure you can get back from your afternoon seminar that day in time for us to have dinner before the show.  Can you get everything done in time to make it,” thinking Blaine, like Hamilton, “ _[d]oesn’t hesitate. He exhibits no restraint.  He takes and he takes and he takes_ ” but could “ _he keep winning anyway?_ ”

 

Blaine’s response through the phone, in staccato rap  only made Kurt laugh harder, “ _Why do you write, like you’re running out of time?_ ”

 

But Blaine was happy and excited, during those two weeks before the auditions, even if Kurt wasn’t always quite sure when he was channeling Hamilton, as opposed to Aaron Burr or George Washington.  Together Blaine and Kurt transposed and reworked a segment of will.i.am’s _Hall of Fame_  arrangement that the glee club had performed Blaine’s senior year at Regionals for his audition piece, in order to showcase both his singing and his rapping skills.  Kurt came home every day to find Blaine following dance routines on Youtube, focused and intense.  Kurt’s concerns that this audition might be too much started to subside a bit, and he found himself joining in the _Hamilton_ banter with Blaine, teasing him by singing King George’s part as Blaine worked and reworked an intricate hip-hop dance step,

 

“ _Time will tell._

_You’ll remember that I served you well._

_Oceans riiiise, empires fall,_

_We have seen each other through it all,_

_and when push comes to shove, I will send_

_a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love!_ ”

 

Blaine just stuck out his tongue at Kurt and kept dancing.

 

*  *  *

 

The day of the auditions, Blaine seemed more subdued than he had been in the past two weeks.  He had flat ironed and teased  his hair out that morning, in a wild, high style, so different from his usual gelled coif that Kurt couldn’t stop staring at it. He was wearing dark workout clothes with a bright red, infinity scarf around his neck, and had borrowed a couple of Kurt’s bigger fashion rings to catch the light when he danced. Kurt helped him double-check his head shot and his sheet music for the piano player. Blaine was fidgeting with the duffle bag that had his dance shoes in it, and he frowned as he  put another water bottle in the bottom.

 

“Do you really think I have a chance, Kurt?”  This was the first time he had expressed any doubt about this audition.  Kurt could see worry in his eyes, the shadow of a cloud starting to cross his face.

 

“Hey,” said Kurt, reaching out to take Blaine by the hand. “Hey.”  Internally, he worried like Eliza, “ _If I could grant you peace of mind, would that be enough?”_

 

They sat on the loveseat in their tiny living room, and Kurt waited for Blaine to tell him what was on his mind.

 

“I mean, it’s huge, and it’s so huge, that everyone is going out for it--I know at least ten people in my dance class at NYU who are going to be there today, and that doesn’t even count the thousands of other people who will have seen the ad and who are preparing. And lots of them probably have professional credits. Maybe I shouldn’t go. I might just end up embarrassing myself.” Blaine was looking at the floor as he was talking, the toe of one shoe dragging slowly against the other.  His hands were gripping the edge of the love seat tightly, as though he was afraid he would fall off.  (“ _Outgunned/Outmanned/Outmaneuvered/Outplanned_ ”).

 

Kurt reached out and pulled Blaine to him, pushing his face into Blaine’s crazy hairdo.  Blaine smelled of lavender soap and bergamot and a little like Kurt’s hairspray.

 

“Hey,” he said again softly, into Blaine’s ear.  “You’re going to be amazing. It doesn’t matter how many people are there. None of them have worked as hard as you, and none of them want it more than you, and even if you don’t get a part, you have to go try, right?  I mean you definitely won’t get cast if you stay home this morning. But if you go, you never know what might happen.”  To himself, “ _Look into your eyes, and the sky’s the limit.  I’m helpless._ ”

  
            Blaine nodded, a tiny nod, still looking at the floor.  He glanced over at Kurt with a sad smile, then said “Will you be here when I get home?”  

 

“Always,“ Kurt replied, and then he pulled Blaine to his feet, and, holding his hands tightly, sang to Blaine, in his clear countertenor, the Eliza Schuyler lyrics  that had been filling the apartment for the past two weeks.

 

“ _I don’t pretend to know_

_the challenges that you’re facing,_

_the worlds you keep erasing and creating in your mind._

_But I’m not afraid_

_I know who I married_

_So long as you come home at the end of the day_

_that would be enough._

_And I could be enough and we could be enough_

_that would be enough._ ”

 

Before he had finished the last lyric, Blaine had buried his face in Kurt’s neck and was holding on to him tight.  And then he let go without another word, and turned to pick up his dance bag. “Wish me luck,” he said, glancing at Kurt as he opened the front door.

 

“Break a leg, Blaine,” said Kurt.  “‘ _That would be enough_.’”

 

*  *  *

 

It was hours before Blaine came back through the door of the apartment.  He had been texting Kurt all day, a roller coaster of excited and terrified messages, which had Kurt clutching his phone, waiting for the next update.

 

“ _The line is around the block.  There must be fifteen hundred people here_.

 

“ _Lin-Manuel Miranda just said hi to us!_ ”

 

Ten minutes later:

 

“ _And Jonathan Groff just walked by, but he didn’t say hi._ ”

 

Half an hour after that:

 

“ _The dance routine they want us to learn isn’t too bad, except for one kick-cross-step combo in the middle._ ”

 

An hour later:

 

“ _I nailed the combo. Made it to the second rounds._ ”

 

And then Kurt’s phone went silent.

 

Four hours later Blaine came crashing through the door, flinging his dance bag to the floor, and calling Kurt’s name.  He sounded excited, elated.  Kurt came in from the bedroom in a rush, and grabbed Blaine, twirling him in a circle, before leading him back to the love seat where they had been that morning.

 

“Tell, tell,” He demanded, blue eyes steady on Blaine, “It’s been hours since your last text. What happened?”

 

“Oh,” said Blaine, “I got cut after the third round, there were so many amazing dancers, Kurt, and lots of them had been professionally cast before. I didn’t have a chance.” He didn’t look the least bit upset.

 

“But you made it to the third round,” said Kurt.  “That’s amazing! Out of all those people…”

 

“I know,” said Blaine, laughing a bit.  “It really was incredible, just being there.  Lin-Manuel Miranda was there the whole time, and he was demonstrating dance moves with the choreographer, and it just felt so _real_. Like I belonged there, at least auditioning, even if I wasn’t quite ready to be cast.” His hair, still wild from the morning, was sticking out in all directions now, and he had a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. “I really was ‘in the room where it happened’ Kurt.”  He smiled at Kurt then, and Kurt could see the clouds had gone from his face, and his smile was full, and bright.

 

“Thank you, Kurt,”said Blaine, “for helping me with...all of it. You really do make it safe.”

 

Kurt kissed him then, because he couldn’t help kissing Blaine when he looked like that, and as Blaine went to shower and change, Kurt could hear him singing to himself yet another _Hamilton_ lyric,

 

“ _We rise and we fall and we break and we make our mistakes._

_And if there’s a reason I’m still alive when everyone who loves me has died,_

_I’m willing to wait for it. I’m willing to wait for it._ ”


	2. Rise Up!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine is pretty sure his shot at a part in Hamilton is over, but another phone call forces him to make a choice....meanwhile, Kurt is preparing for a part of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please follow us at neverhaveieverbooks on tumblr!

Over the next few weeks both men settled back into their daily routines.  Blaine was still humming _Hamilton_ lyrics under his breath, but he quickly got busy with his summer classes at NYU, and Kurt was busy working at Vogue.com after graduation.  Both were auditioning constantly.  

 

July in New York was almost unbearably hot.  Kurt hated New York in the summer. The city smelled fetid and oily almost continuously, and the brief rainshowers that fell in in the late afternoons, caused by rising condensation among the skyscrapers, did almost nothing to dispel the heat and humidity.  The crowds all seemed a little closer and the noises a little more irksome in the summertime.

 

On the last Tuesday of the month, Kurt got a text from Blaine in the late afternoon.  He was just headed into a staff meeting to discuss the upcoming Fall Fashion Week, but the text made him stop just outside the conference room door.

 

From Blaine:

 

_I got a part._

 

Kurt  immediately swiped his phone open and dialed Blaine’s number.  It went to voicemail. He looked up to see Isabelle staring at him, waiting for him to join the group inside so that she could start the meeting. He slipped his phone into his pocket and sat down. Whatever Blaine’s part was it would have to wait.

 

Two hours later, Kurt was pushing out of the subway stop near their apartment, a huge bouquet of iris and sunflowers in his arms. As he entered the apartment, he found Blaine standing by the living room window, staring out at the city.  He didn’t turn around when Kurt closed the door.

 

“Hey!” Kurt said, coming up to his side to present the flowers and a kiss  right above Blaine’s ear, “I was in a meeting, I’m sorry we couldn’t talk earlier.  Tell me about the part! What is it?” Singing from Hamilton, “ _So what’d I miss?  What’d I miss?_ ”  He exclaimed,  “And I have news too!”

 

Blaine turned to him then, and Kurt could see tears in his eyes, his breath ragged and hitching.  Uh-oh. Kurt set the bouquet down on the coffee table and tugged Blaine by the hand to sit down next to him on the sofa.

 

“Blaine?” Kurt had no idea what was wrong, what could have happened in just two hours to turn Blaine’s world to sadness, unless--”Blaine, is it my Dad?”  Kurt’s heart dropped to his stomach all of a sudden.  He thought, “ _Headfirst, into the abyss!_ ”

 

“No, no, god, Kurt, no it’s not your Dad.” Blaine pulled him into a hug, then, and buried his head into Kurt’s shoulder.  His voice came out muffled when he spoke next.  “I promise, your Dad’s fine, it’s just...me. I’m being stupid.”

 

Kurt was even more confused.  But he knew enough to give Blaine time to breathe into him.  Blaine always needed to touch Kurt when he was upset. It settled him.  Even now Kurt could feel Blaine start to sag against him, his breath coming slower and more steadily .

 

A minute later Blaine spoke again.  “I got offered a part. Kurt.”

 

“I saw,” said Kurt slowly.  “I called you but you didn’t answer, and I was late for a meeting, and Isabelle was glaring at me. I’m _really_ sorry I didn’t text you right back.  Is that why you’re upset?”

 

“No, it’s not  about you, Kurt, I mean, it _is_ about you, but not in that way, It’s--” Blaine cut himself short.

 

“Okay,”Kurt said simply.  None of this made sense.  But Kurt had learned a few things about patience and not making assumptions in the past year and a half of being married to Blaine. He knew he needed to wait until Blaine could explain it.

 

Blaine sighed then, and settled himself more firmly against Kurt, wrapping his arm around Kurt’s waist and pushing his face more firmly into Kurt’s neck. He spoke quietly.

 

“I got a call from _Hamilton_. They offered me a part in the chorus.”

 

“And?” Kurt was treading cautiously now.  Obviously this part wasn’t the good news he would have assumed it to be.

 

“Not in New York. On the national tour, Kurt.”

 

Oh. Now Kurt understood.  A national tour meant a commitment of at least a year, traveling all over the country, living out of a suitcase and waking up in a new city every week or so.  But it was _Hamilton_.  They could make this work.

 

“Blaine, it’s a great opportunity.  Do you want to do it? Because if you want to we can--” “ _Maaan, the man is/Non-stop!_ ” Kurt thought, his mind beginning to race, considering whether Blaine could take a semester’s leave from school, how they would figure out seeing each other while Blaine was on the road, whether--

 

Kurt’s whirling thoughts were cut short by Blaine pushing his face harder into Kurt’s neck.

 

“Do you know what my first thought was when they called?” Blaine asked him. His voice was muffled against Kurt.

 

Kurt shook his head, no.  ”Tell me.”

 

“From the show,” said Blaine, “after their son Philip  dies. All I could think was that being away from you again for a year would be ‘ _trying to do the unimaginable_.’”

 

They sat  for a few minutes, Blaine reluctant to loosen his connection to Kurt, and Kurt silent, letting Blaine’s words settle over both of them.

 

Blaine spoke again.

 

“Kurt, I wasn’t thinking how great it was I got a part, or that I would get to be part of _Hamilton_ at all.  It all just pushed me right back to my senior year at McKinley, when you were here, and I wasn’t and all the crap that happened, and how I never want to do that again. _Ever_.” He still hadn’t moved from where he was curled up against Kurt, his face hidden, thinking, “ _Just let me stay here by your side/That would be enough._ ”

 

Kurt sighed, and soothed Blaine’s back with his hand. He started to speak, “Blaine, you know things are pretty different now. We’re married, we’re older, we can make this work if you want to. Really, I’m willing to--”

 

Blaine cut him off. “I _don’t_ want to Kurt, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t want to try to have a long distance relationship with you right after we’ve finally settled into something here.  Something really good. For me.  For both of us, I hope.”

 

“Of course for both of us,” Kurt told him, his hand still patting up and down Blaine’s spine. “If you don’t want to take the part, don’t take the part.  You’ll get something else.” He shrugged.

 

“Do you think I will, though?” asked Blaine. “I mean, I’m just starting out. I can’t be turning up my nose at jobs, and this is _Hamilton_.  It’s like, ‘ _When you got skin in the game, you stay in the game/But you don’t get a win unless you play in the game._ ’People are practically selling body parts to get into this show.  ”

 

“No selling body parts,” declared Kurt firmly, “It’s a new rule. I have dibs on all your body parts.” Blaine chuckled  a bit. The sound made Kurt relax.  Kurt settled back further into the sofa then, drawing Blaine along with him.  Blaine settled his head on Kurt’s shoulder as Kurt continued talking.

 

“And yes, of course you’re going to get other jobs.  It’s inevitable. ‘ _Some day you’ll blow us all away._ ’”

 

“Sooo…” Blaine didn’t finish the sentence.

 

“So you tell them ‘thank you’ but you have commitments in the city, and you stay home and finish school and keep audtioning for parts here, and you take care of me while I produce and sing in  the 2016 Vogue.com Fall Fashion Week video which Isabelle just assigned me.”

 

Blaine sat up straight then, looking at Kurt. “Really? You get to sing in it? And produce it? When did that happen? Kurt, why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Kurt grinned. “It just happened.  Isabelle asked me about it in the meeting I had this afternoon.  They want it to be sort of edgy and haunted and apparently I fit the bill perfectly.”

 

“Well, you _are_ both edgy and haunted.”  Blaine squeezed Kurt to him. “I’m so proud of you! I can’t wait to see it!  You’re going to be really busy.  It’s a good thing I’ll be here to take care of you.”

 

The two sat contentedly for a moment.  And then Blaine spoke again.   “Kurt?”

 

“Hmmm?” Kurt was kissing Blaine’s curls, as he answered.

 

“I’m going to wait until tomorrow to call them.  I just want to be a _Hamilton_ cast member for one day.”

 

Kurt smiled into Blaine’s hair. “Of course, B.”

 

Blaine nestled further into Kurt’s arms.  “I’m glad it turned out this way.” I can be Aaron Burr for now. _‘I’m not standing still, I’m lying in wait.’_ ”

 

“You’re perfect,” said Kurt.


	3. In the Eye of a Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get really busy really fast. Kurt doesn't manage it well. Luckily Blaine knows how he gets. So does Burt.

Their plan to let Blaine step back while Kurt's career took a big step forward didn't turn out the way they thought though. The next day, when Blaine called the casting director back he discovered that one of the New York chorus members had injured himself.  Blaine was offered a part in the New York chorus ensemble of _Hamilton_ and as the understudy for the actor who played King George III.  Kurt and Blaine agreed that was a role Blaine couldn’t turn down. Kurt came home that night with an even bigger bouquet of flowers and told Blaine, “‘ _Look into your eyes and the sky’s the limit_.’”

 

Blaine simply laughed and twirled Kurt around in his arms and responded, “‘ _Boy, you got me, I’m helpless!’_ ”

 

The next few weeks were busy.  Very busy. Kurt was in the recording studio for hours on end, recording tracks. Those were followed by choreography rehearsals and endless clothes fittings, since the purpose of the video was to showcase the clothing for buyers. As if that wasn't enough, Isabelle had him assist in preparing for the magazine’s upcoming coverage of Fashion Week.  Some nights he didn't get back to the apartment until almost midnight, overcharged on too much caffeine and not enough sunlight.  Blaine was usually asleep, since he had to be at dance rehearsals early in the morning.  They left each other random love notes on yellow stickies around the apartment and texted during the day, but Kurt could feel the tension s start to rise in him as their schedules got more hectic and they saw each other less and less. He started leaving dirty dishes in the sink. The laundry piled up.  Blaine’s basil and rosemary plants, carefully seated in the only window in the apartment that got any sun started to wither from lack of water.

 

On Sunday, Kurt pushed himself out of bed while Blaine still slept, pulled on a robe, and stared blearily at the sink filled with dishes while he set the coffee maker.  Sighing, he started unloading the tiny dishwasher.  There were probably three loads of dishes on the counter.  He would either have to wash some things by hand or spend all day, unloading and loading the machine.  They needed to do laundry, the apartment hadn’t been vacuumed in two weeks, and when Kurt went to the refrigerator to find soy milk for his coffee, he realized that not only were they out, but there was almost nothing else edible in there either, save for a suspicious looking take-out container that he thought was now over a week old, a lone slice of deli ham, half a carton of eggs, a jar of dill pickles and a bunch of condiment jars.  They couldn't live on mustard.

 

So, dishes, laundry, groceries, and they really needed to go through that stack of mail.  Kurt’s mind was racing at this point.  Tomorrow started another work week for both of them, and it promised to be busier than the last, if that was even possible.  Blaine would start live performances in _Hamilton_ next week, just as Kurt was finishing up taping and then turning his attention to the details of Fashion Week itself. That meant Pam and his Dad and Carole would be flying in for Blaine’s opening night.  And Rachel would want to have some sort of party after…

 

Kurt’s anger built and reminded him of the last time they lived together, when he felt smothered by responsibility .  “ _I am slow to anger/But I toe the line./As I reckon with the effects/Of your life on mine_.”

 

He picked up his phone from the kitchen counter to start making a list,then realized his phone was dead.  And the charging cord was missing from its usual place by the cookbooks.

 

Kurt started.  Blaine had just come up behind him, putting his arms around Kurt from behind, burying his face into the back of Kurt’s neck.

 

“Coffee,” he croaked, voice still sleep-rough. Kurt could feel Blaine’s curls tickling his neck.

 

Blaine’s touch was just one more thing crowding in at that moment.  Kurt could feel himself tensing up at the exact same moment that the voice in his head started speaking to him, saying, “Don’t get angry. You know this is how things got messed up before. Breathe and talk to him.” The voice made sense.  He knew the voice made sense.  It didn’t matter.  He was beyond listening to the voice.  He pulled away from Blaine abruptly and spun around, voice clipped and piercing.

 

“Did you move the phone charger?”

 

Blaine looked at him, puzzled for a moment, still sleep-bleary and blinking in the light.  

 

“Umm…” He ran a hand through his messy curls, then rubbed his face, trying to concentrate.   _Phone charger, phone charger_ … He turned toward his messenger bag, dropped in a heap by the front door after yesterday’s brutal rehearsal.  “Shit. Yeah, I took it to rehearsal, because my phone was almost dead.  It’s in my bag. Sorry about that.”

 

Kurt had already pounced on Blaine’s bag, sorting through his dance shoes and a water bottle, and pulled out the charger, buried in an extra t shirt.  Even now, he couldn’t keep the clipped tone out of his voice.

 

“Blaine, this is why I charge the phone every night, so that it won’t die and I won’t steal _your_ phone charger in inconvenient ways.”

 

Blaine was waking up a bit more now.  He headed toward the cupboard by the stove, pulling out a single coffee mug to pour himself a cup. Fortified by the first strong sip, he turned around and looked at Kurt who was now busy replacing the charger to its former spot, not looking at Blaine.

 

“Really, Kurt? Is this what you want to do this morning? The only day we both have off all week?” The sarcastic edge to Blaine’s voice was not lost on him. Kurt knew that now was the moment to end this, to move back into Blaine’s arms, and apologize for being snippy, especially on a Sunday morning, their only morning together, and to smooth things over. Instead he glared over at Blaine, and made a big show of plugging his phone in, then rummaging through the kitchen drawers for a pencil and a notepad.  The lyrics thumped in his head:  “ _I don’t wanna fight/But I won’t apologize for doing what’s right_.”

 

“I don’t _want_ to do this, but apparently that’s what I’m doing anyway.  Because I always have to be the adult in the room.  This place is a pigsty--look at it, and there’s no food, and I haven’t even looked at the mail in four days, and next week is going to be even worse, Blaine--”  here Kurt rolled his eyes in aggravation, which was really about the worst possible thing he could add to this conversation right now, but did it anyway, even though the sensible voice in his head was yelling at him now, “ _Stop Kurt! Stop it. Right._ ” Too late.  Instead, “ _I will not equivocate in my opinion/I have always worn it on my sleeve_.”

 

“So, yes, that’s what I’m doing. And then I’m doing dishes, _and_ laundry, _and_ buying groceries, and after that, apparently, I’m going to take care of paying the bills, because I’m trying to get through the next couple of weeks without the electricity being disconnected, or either one of us starving from malnutrition.” Kurt huffed out a final breath of irritation. (“ _Here’s an itemized list of … disagreements_ ”).

 

“Fuck you, Kurt,” was Blaine’s only reply, before he took his coffee and disappeared back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Five minutes later, he came out, dressed in running gear, and disappeared out the front door without even a glance in Kurt’s direction.

 

Crap.  Kurt knew better.   He _knew_ he knew better.  He was just tense from remembering the past week and anticipating the next week, and there was so much to do….oh, god, this was never going to work.

 

Kurt sank into one of the kitchen chairs, a dishrag still in his hands.  He wished he could call his therapist, but it was Sunday morning.  Well, at least he could do the next best thing.  He picked up his phone, still charging, and dialed.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Hey, buddy, how are you guys?”  Kurt could picture his Dad at that moment, sitting at the old wooden kitchen table in Lima, looking over the Sports page of the Sunday paper while Carole read the front page. His dad was probably wearing the old flannel robe that Kurt had bought him years ago, and which he refused to give up, even though it was almost worn through both of the elbows. “It’s soft.” He said, the last time Kurt argued with him about it. “And you bought it for me when I came home from the hospital after my heart attack.  It’s lucky.”

 

“I screwed up, Dad.” and with that Kurt could feel the tears he had been holding onto welling up in his eyes. “I really screwed up.”

 

“Hey, hey,” Burt’s voice was calm and quiet at the end of the line.  “Tell me what happened, kid.  I’m sure there’s a way to fix it.  Where’s Blaine?”

 

“I’m not sure.  I think he’s out running.  He didn’t tell me where he was going.”

 

“You guys have a fight?”

 

“Yeah.” Kurt sniffled.  He was crying in earnest now.

 

“You start it?” His dad never tiptoed around the hard stuff.  That was part of why Kurt had called him. He closed his eyes.

 

“Yeah.”  And then he told his dad all of it, about how hard the last few weeks had been and how it wasn’t going to get easier any time soon, and they only had one day off, and so much to do, and how he shouldn’t have lost his temper, he knew better, but he did anyways, and now Blaine was mad at him, and he had ruined the only day off they even had….

 

His dad listened quietly, while he ran himself down, not interrupting, only inserting a “hmm,” every now and then.

 

Finally, Kurt was quiet, his tears slowing as he finished up.  He could feel his breath starting to slow down also.  Burt asked, “Is that all?”

 

“Dad! Is that _all_?  Did you not hear what I just told you?  I screwed up, and now Blaine’s gone, and the place is still a mess, and …” Kurt could feel himself getting wound up all over again.

 

“Hey, kid, breathe” and Kurt could hear his dad smiling, even though he couldn’t see him over the phone.

 

“But, Dad, I--” Kurt tried to explain again.  He couldn’t believe his dad was laughing at him.

 

Burt cut him off.” “No, Kurt, listen.  You called me presumably to ask what I think, right?” His tone had become serious.

 

“Yes.” Kurt knew his voice was sullen.  He didn’t care.

 

“Then listen to what I think.  I think you’re stressed out, and we all--especially Blaine -- know how you get when you get stressed out. Now that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on him, you know that was wrong, and you need to apologize and make it up to him.  And then you both, together, need to come up for a plan to manage this while it’s crazy.”

 

“How?”   Kurt’s voice was calmer now.  His dad apparently didn’t think Blaine was gone forever.  If he was honest with himself, he didn’t think so either.  Blaine only left with his phone and his keys, not a whole suitcase, like last time...Kurt pushed that thought away.  His Dad was right. He needed to come up with a plan. _They_ needed to come up with a plan.

 

At this point, Burt chuckled, and said, “Kurt, that’s up to the two of you.  I don’t know exactly what your schedules are, but I know that sometimes life gets crazy, and you just have to roll with it.  Wait until you have a newborn waking you up every two hours, and you haven’t slept in a month. You two chose to go into careers that keep weird hours, and don’t let you call in sick or have weekends like normal people, and that’s always going to be a little hectic, right?”

 

Kurt sighed his assent. His dad was right, they were going to have to figure this out.  Better sooner, rather than later. “Thanks, Dad, I get it.”  Again, advice from the play:  “ _Careful how you proceed, good man/Intemperate indeed, good man_.”

 

“Hey,” added Burt before they hung up, “I love you both, I know you can do this, and don’t forget, you live in New York, where everything’s open 24/7, and they deliver anything, right? Make that work for you, kid.”

 

*  *  *

 

Blaine came through the apartment door about a half hour later, his curls a sweaty mess on his head, perspiration dripping through his shirt, and a small carton of soy milk in his hand.  He was breathless as he came through the door, and he looked over warily at Kurt, who was doing the last of the dishes, as a ham and herb frittata sat on the counter, ready to pop under the broiler.

 

Kurt turned and went to him immediately, heedless, of the sweat, tugging Blaine into a hug.

 

“I’m sorry, B.  Really, I didn’t mean to snap at you.  It wasn’t fair, and even though I’m stressed I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

 

Blaine eased into the hug.  He always did.  “What do you need?” He asked, as he hugged back. “I mean other than milk for your morning coffee?”

 

Kurt smiled a bit, heedless of the sweat. Blaine smelled salty, and comforting.

 

“I need you to forgive me, and to help me come up with a plan to figure this out so we actually can be successful at this whole marriage and two-career thing without me coming apart at the seams.”

 

“I forgave you at about mile two,” said Blaine, pushing a hand under Kurt’s t shirt, flat and warm against his spine.  “And I know you do this when you get stressed.  But we can’t keep doing this Kurt.  I’m still trying to figure out a bunch of the choreography, and they want me to start performances next week.  And you know my mom is coming in, and I just got a text from Dad that he might fly in the week after that.  We have to get through this without you freaking out at me every time things get overwhelming.”

 

Kurt tipped his forehead into the space between Blaine’s neck and his shoulder, hearing his irritation acknowledged, “... _your grievance is legitimate, I stand by what I said, every bit of it._ ”  His running shirt was damp, and his curls were matted down behind his ear.

 

“I know, I know,” Kurt groaned.  “Look, I made a fairly pathetic frittata with our last food as a peace offering.  Can we please eat and make a list and try to figure out how to make this work?”

 

Kurt ghosted his fingers up under the back of Blaine’s damp shirt, mimicking the way Blaine had placed his own hand.

 

Blaine  kissed his forehead, “Of course.”  Kurt heard, but sincerely, not formalistically, “ _I have the honor to be Your Obedient Servant.._.”

 

And so they did, figuring out what was most important. For Blaine it was food. “ Kurt, I’m working out ten hours a day, I need the right balance of carbs and proteins and I really _won’t care_ if the living room has been vacuumed recently if I collapse during _The Battle of Yorktown_.”

 

For Kurt it was keeping the kitchen in some semblance of order.  Waking up to dirty dishes was what had set him off this morning.  He knew that he needed to maintain some sense of _home as sanctuary_ to keep him balanced when everything at work was hectic.

 

An hour later they had found a prepared organic food delivery service that was barely affordable if they used it three days a week, and had put together a standing grocery list for delivery for everything else.  Kurt remembered a friend from NYADA who ran a part time cleaning service in between auditioning for roles and she agreed to come and clean for them once a week. Also, he added paper plates to the shopping list.  They would have to use some of the wedding money Pam had given them, which they had been hoarding for a down payment on a house some day, but Blaine just smiled at Kurt’s worried look, as he gazed at the balance sheet on his phone, and leaned over to kiss him again, saying “Better to use it now for this, than to never need to use it for a house because we got too overwhelmed too early.”

 

Kurt looked up at him then, across the table. Blaine hadn’t even showered after his run, just sat down and started working together with Kurt to brainstorm solutions.

 

“We’re kind of idiots, aren’t we?” He asked Blaine.

 

Blaine shrugged,  and agreed. “Kind of.  We probably should have done this a while ago, so you wouldn’t reach freak-out status. But this is what we do, right? We jump into things and mess them up?  At least we’ve reached a point where we then figure them out, right?” Blaine looked slightly concerned, and Kurt knew he was remembering all the times they had jumped into things in the past.  Blaine moving into the loft, their first engagement, the spur-of-the-moment wedding….

 

His hair was a curly mess, his running clothes still sweaty and rumpled, but he looked at Kurt as though Kurt was the only star shining in a dark night sky, and he reached over to run his thumb gently across the back of Kurt’s knuckles in the way he knew, had always known, since they were in high school and already so stupidly in love they couldn’t even begin to picture how to be without each other in the world,  would soothe Kurt.  

 

Kurt couldn’t picture a future of not jumping into things with Blaine, even when they got messed up.

 

Kurt stood up then, turning his hand to pull Blaine’s so that Blaine stood as well.  Blaine looked quizzically at him, “Did we forget something?”

 

Kurt nodded.  “Yes,” he said, pulling Blaine towards him, “Well, I forgot. So  I need to remind you.”

 

Blaine looked more confused. “Wait. _You_ forgot something, so you need to remind _me_?”

 

“Yes,” Kurt said simply, and tugged Blaine towards the bedroom.

 

“But, Kurt, I’m filthy. And sweaty.” Blaine started to protest, all the while allowing Kurt to pull him  along, and then push him down on the unmade bed.

 

“Do you care?” asked Kurt, clambering over him, thinking now “ _I have the honor to be.._.” He pushed Blaine’s shirt up to lay a trail of kisses across his ribcage.

 

Blaine sighed into the touch, and pushed his hands into Kurt’s waistband. “No, you’re right. This is better.  I won’t have to shower twice.  Saves time…”

 

After, Blaine begged for five extra minutes of cuddling, before they showered (“I saved five minutes from not showering before, Kurt, I get to spend it now…”), and did laundry and watered the plants, and located the other phone charger. Kurt smiled and settled back into his arms, and whispered another apology, because he had learned that apologies were important, even if he was bad at them ( _especially_ because he was bad at them) to which Blaine responded by pulling him in closer, his head tucked against Kurt’s shoulder. He said, “Works in progress, right?”

 

And Kurt smiled and nodded, suddenly oblivious to the laundry and the dying plants and the empty refrigerator, and agreed, “Works in progress, B.”

 


	4. Blow Us All Away

The text came at the worst possible time.  Kurt was in Isabelle’s office at two o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, going over final edits to the Fashion Week blog, and waiting impatiently to get feedback  on the video which had been released that day.  Isabelle was talking incredibly fast and loud to hide her nerves, and Kurt was trying to keep her distracted, when his phone buzzed.  He almost ignored it. There was too much going on right now to deal with anything else.  He could take it later.  But something in his gut told him to check it quickly and when he did, the bottom almost fell out of his stomach.  It was from Blaine.

 

_IIId the Vth. Tonight_.

 

Kurt knew immediately what it meant.  Rory must be sick. Rory O’Malley was the actor who played King George the III in _Hamilton_.  He was the fourth actor to take the role, and everyone in the cast referred to him as King George the Third, the Fourth.”  If Blaine took his role tonight he would be “King George the Third, the Fifth.”  “ _The world turned upside down._ ”

 

Just as Kurt was turning to share the text with Isabelle and then make his excuses, because he _needed_ to go, he _needed_ to get home and get changed into a fabulous “My Husband is the King” outfit to wear to the performance, and pick up a huge bouquet of flowers to bring to the theater, and text his dad and Carole, and Pam and the Warblers, and Rachel, and Sam and ….oh, god he _needed_ to text _everyone_ , but first he should text _Blaine_ back, Isabelle’s e mail pinged.  It was from Anna Wintour, Vogue magazine’s notoriously difficult-to-please editor-in chief.  She was so intimidating that no staffers at Kurt’s level ever referred to her by her first name or as Ms. Wintour.  She was fully Anna Wintour.

 

_My office_ was all it said.

 

Isabelle and Kurt looked at each other in silence. They had no idea what that meant other than a summons to them both.  Kurt had never even met Anna Wintour in person before, although he had certainly seen her at various Vogue.com events, and from the other side of conference rooms during planning meetings.  This was probably a bad sign.  Of all days for something to go wrong at work…  “ _If this is the end of me, at least I have a friend with me_ ,” he thought.

 

Kurt sighed and sent a quick text to Blaine as he and Isabelle headed down the hallway towards the elevator.

 

_Called into AW’s. Leave my ticket at will-call. Break both gorgeous legs. <3_

 

Kurt replayed the last couple of weeks in his mind as he and Isabelle rode silently together in the elevator up to the Conde Nast executive suite. It had been extremely busy and he was exhausted from the demands of both Fashion Week and Blaine’s schedule.  His Dad and Carole had come into town with Blaine’s mom for Blaine’s opening night last Tuesday at Hamilton.  They were only in town for a couple of days and they kept telling both Kurt and Blaine that they didn’t want to interrupt, they knew it was a very busy time, but there was so much to talk about, and so little time, and Kurt really only had time to catch up with his dad at the late night restaurant dinner his dad insisted on after Blaine’s first show.  Since Blaine wasn’t done and changed until well after ten p.m., Kurt was barely awake by the time they ordered.  His dad glanced at him across the table while Blaine was wrapped up in another conversation and asked, ‘Everything okay, kid?”

 

“Yeah, Dad,” Kurt smiled at him, despite his exhaustion.  “I’m really tired, Blaine’s really tired, but we’re doing okay.  Better than okay, really. I mean, you saw him tonight, right?”

 

“Yup, the whole show was pretty incredible.”

 

“Yeah, but Dad, I mean, you saw _him_ , right?” Kurt glanced down the table to where Blaine was telling a story to Pam and Carole, gesturing wildly with his hands about something that had happened before curtain that night.  He was dressed casually, in a striped henley shirt, open at the neck and some dark wash jeans with loafers.  His hair was still damp from his after-show shower, and Kurt didn’t think he would ever get tired of seeing Blaine like this, tired but engaged and happy.  Blaine looked up then, caught Kurt looking at him, and cocked his head, as though he may have missed something Kurt said.  Kurt just grinned at him, and grabbed his wine glass to stand and make a toast, while his dad said to him quietly, “You two do always find a way to fall head over heels for each other, over and over again.”  “ _That would be enough._ ”

 

The new managing-two careers plan seemed to be working, but it was hard. Blaine was gone long hours every day but Monday, when Kurt had to work, and Blaine spent most of the day catching up on sleep anyway.  Luckily, Fashion Week was wrapping up, and if he didn’t get fired for the video, things would settle down a bit in the next few weeks.

 

Isabelle and Kurt were ushered into Anna Wintour’s private office, with its modern black dining table serving as a desk, framed black and white photos all around, and sweeping views of New York harbor to the West and Manhattan to the North. Neither of them said anything as Anna Wintour turned and looked them both over.  She wore a tight, short-sleeved grey sweater with a chunky knit over a narrow pink, peach and brown checked wool skirt.  The gold silk scarf at her neck pulled the otherwise discordant colors together.  Kurt wracked his brain, trying to place the designer, in case she asked, crap, it was on the tip of his tongue…  Marc Jacobs, her former pet?  No, they had split. He was too distracted to figure it out.

  
“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word, and then turned away, waving them both away with her hand, picked up the phone and started to make a call.  Isabelle and Kurt looked at each other, wide-eyed, and then turned and fled, silently, to the safety of the hallway.  Isabelle flung herself at Kurt then, and wrapped him a  bear hug.  Again Kurt thought, “ _The world turned upside down_.”

 

“‘Yes,’ Kurt! She gave us a ‘ _yes_!’ In person!”  Both of them knew Anna Wintour dispersed praise sparingly and cryptically.  And to be called in to her office to receive it was huge praise in the world of Vogue.com. It was a triumph.  Kurt followed Isabelle back to their floor where she called together their Fashion Week team,and passed on the big news.  There was a bit of a party atmosphere starting and a few people suggested heading out for drinks at a nearby wine bar, when Kurt all of a sudden realized what time it was.   Only twenty minutes to curtain at _Hamilton_. And he still had to get to the theater district from the Conde Nast headquarters downtown.

 

Kurt made it into his seat just as the show was beginning.  He was out of breath, fumbling to turn his phone off in the dark, and was definitely not changed or bearing flowers.  But he was there, and even if he was the only one in the world outside of the cast who knew Blaine, the actor playing King George tonight he couldn’t have been more proud.  “ _Then you walked in and my heart went “Boom!_ ”

 

The next Monday morning, Kurt took the day off of work.  Blaine slept while Kurt did laundry and re-ordered groceries.  The apartment was kind of a mess.  “ _Domestic life was never quite my style._ ”  He hadn’t spent quality time with Blaine in weeks.  He sighed and sat down at the kitchen table, trying to figure out how to better coordinate their schedules. He couldn’t take every Monday off for the next several months.  “ _But I’m not afraid/I know who I married/So as long as you come home at the end of the day/That would be enough._ ”

 

When Blaine appeared from the bedroom, drowsy and rumpled, Kurt handed him a mug of coffee without saying a word.  He was working on something on his laptop.  Blaine dropped a kiss on Kurt’s shoulder and took a big sip while peering onto the screen from behind him.

 

“Whatcha doing?” He asked.  His voice was still sleep-roughened, and he spoke quietly.  Ever since joining the _Hamilton_ cast Blaine had been trying to save his voice.

 

“Working on something for us.” Kurt replied.

 

“Hmmm?” Blaine hummed as he rested his chin on Kurt’s shoulder and tried to focus sleep-bleary eyes on the tiny screen.

 

“Well,” Kurt said, “remember how I told you that when I didn’t get the part of Tony back in high school that my dad told me it didn’t mean I needed to change who I was, I just needed to find a way to create different parts for myself?”

 

“He was right,” said Blaine, pushing his face closer into Kurt’s hair and nuzzling his ear.

 

“Well,” Kurt replied, leaning back into Blaine’s touch, “I didn’t quite get it at the time, but I was thinking more about it the other night when you were playing King George---” at that Blaine interrupted him.

 

“King George the Third the Fifth.” He loved the full title.

 

“Yes,” Kurt indulged him, pushing his chair back, and standing to turn and pull Blaine into a hug.  “You were playing King George the Third the Fifth…”

 

“And…” Blaine  prompted, pulling Kurt in even closer.

 

“And it struck me that maybe creating parts for me--for _us_ , really, would solve our other problem, too.”

 

“What problem?” whispered Blaine, tugging Kurt by the hand back to their bedroom. The conversation stopped abruptly at that point. Blaine brought it up again afterward, curled around Kurt under the sheets, his hand splayed across Kurt’s ribcage. Their clothes were strewn all over the floor. Blaine was still breathing heavily and Kurt was almost dozing, propped against him in the afterglow.

 

“Were you saying we had a problem?” prompted Blaine, pulling himself in closer to Kurt.

 

“Yeah,” said Kurt, blinking his eyes open slowly, “it’s this.”

 

Blaine started then, and pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at Kurt with concern.

 

“No,” Kurt tried to tug him down again, “Not _this,_ Blaine, _time_ for this. And time for dinner, and taking a walk together and, oh, I don’t know, conversation once in a while. We’re running on completely different schedules, and even though we’re both meeting our goals and doing what we came to New York to do, it’s just-” He looked up at Blaine, who was now looking at him fondly.  “ _I ask myself/What would you do if you had more time?_ ”

 

“It’s hard,” Blaine finished the sentence for him, then flopped down again and settled his hand back on Kurt’s chest, his head on Kurt’s bare shoulder.  “I know, it’s really hard.”

 

“Yeah,” said Kurt quietly, running a finger over the back of Blaine’s hand in gentle lines.  “It’s really hard. I miss you.”

 

“You know someone famous once said that dreams come true, they don’t come free,” remarked Blaine, staring at the ceiling. “And I miss you too. I thought not going on tour would be the answer. Guess that was not entirely correct.”

 

“Well, I have an idea. I’m writing a script. For both of us.”  “ _I’ll write my way out/Overwhelm them with honesty._ ”

 

“Really?” Blaine bounced up again on his elbow, a grin starting to spread across his face. Kurt could never get enough of Blaine’s happy face. It was like watching a kid meet his first puppy.

 

“Yeah,” he smiled back.  “I figured if we do a joint production, then even if we’re busy, at least we’re busy on the same schedule. And at the same theater.”

 

“What is it?” Blaine looked practically giddy. “Is one of us a bad guy? Can I play a bad guy?”

 

“ _Ohmygod_ Blaine, you are _such_ a child,” Kurt admonished him, but there was no heat in it.  Kurt looked up at him, hovering, eyes bright with excitement.  He thought, for the millionth time, that he could never have imagined being so lucky as to have this man in his life… Blaine brought him joy and comfort and passion and all the things he never dreamed he would have as a young teen in Lima, Ohio. “ _Look into your eyes/And the sky’s the/Limit I’m Helpless!_ "And yet, through it all, Blaine seemed convinced that _he_ was the lucky one, that Kurt completed him and soothed him and cared for him. They were both lucky, Kurt knew, but whoever that someone famous was, they were right too. “ _Love doesn’t discriminate/Between the sinners/And the saints/It takes and it takes and it takes._ ”  Dreams did come true, but you had to pay for them.  Kurt wanted to make sure the price wasn’t too high.  So if they were going to conquer Broadway and make names for themselves, they were going to do it together.  He smiled up at Blaine.  “A _nd we keep living anyway/We rise and we fall and we break/And we make our mistakes._ ”

 

“Yeah. I’m writing an LGBTQ version of _Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf_. But I get to play Martha of course.”

 

Blaine laughed out loud then, bright and full, and leaned down to kiss him again.

 

“Of course you do, Kurt.  It’s brilliant. You trying to keep our marriage together by putting on a production about the world’s worst marriage.  “ _It’s Ben Franklin with a key and a kite! You see it, right?_ ”  The two of them lay together in comfortable silence before Blaine spoke again,

 

“You know, Kurt, you are …”he let his voice trail off.

 

“What?” asked Kurt, coy, knowing, but wanting to hear Blaine say it again anyways  He loved it when Blaine said it. He knew Blaine knew that too.

 

“You are the only person I know who would do something like that. The only one.  And that is why I love you so much.”  “ _You’ll blow us all away._ ”

 

Kurt sighed and pulled Blaine close and as he kissed him again, the lyrics from Hamilton ran through his head, “ _Let this moment be the first chapter._ ”


End file.
